Seeing Is
by P. Chuu
Summary: My take on a Murdoc and 2D relationship if Murdoc was suddenly blinded by an accident. Gorillaz fanfic, slashiness, mature language and themes.
1. Chapter 1

**Seeing Is**

**Chapter:** 01  
**Disclaimer:** Characters not mine; D. Albarn and J. Hewlett's. Idea, however, totally mine (I doubt they'd want to claim it).  
**Rating:** NC-17 for angst and Murdoc/2-D slashiness in later chapters.  
**Chapter notes:** I was driving around listening to a mix CD I made to entertain myself on the 2 ½ hour drive from my home in Oklahoma to my boyfriend's home in Texas. On said CD, there were some Gorillaz songs… and a song by an Italian songstress named Elisa that I've been partial to for awhile. Long story short, I was listening to the song and I thought, "OMG, 2-D/Murdoc!" …not my fault. I blame my brain, which is in no way affiliated with me as a person.  
And yes, I love the irony of inserting lyrics from one band/artist into a fanfic about a completely different band.  
Also, thank you to the impeccable Sandra Delete, who made a wonderful suggestion to improve the opening of this fanfic.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Not all musical tastes make sense. Occasionally, something truly twisted pops up, grabs someone by the short hairs, and demands they pay attention.

At least, that was what 2-D believed. After all, why the hell else was he listening to this record? It was the work of an Italian bird called Elisa and was something of a guilty pleasure of his, a record he would never share with anyone else in the band as he was fairly certain they wouldn't understand. Murdoc, he knew, would undoubtedly hate it; Russel and Noodle would probably try to understand 2-D's zeal, but wouldn't be able to love it the way he did.

That was definitely what he felt… he loved this record. Any time he could sneak a moment with it, he did so. He probably wouldn't have listened to it that night, except it was a Thursday night – never his favorite night – and he had nothing else to do since both Noodle and Russel had left for an impromptu interview in the states… something about the "lesser-known" band members getting the limelight (much to Murdoc's displeasure). They'd been gone two days and were actually scheduled to be back that night, but at the moment Kong Studios housed only 2-D (who was bored), Murdoc (who was MIA, as far as 2-D knew), and a few zombies still lurking in some of the less used passages.

So, with nothing else to do and without meaning to, he had ended up splayed out on his bed at Kong Studios, listening to a record he considered a secret to be kept with the utmost care.

"You are not an enemy anymore  
There's a ray of light upon your face now  
I can look into your eyes  
And I never thought it would be so simple  
You can hear the music with no sounds  
You can heal my heart without me knowing  
I can cry in front of you  
'cause you're not afraid to face my weakness…"

_'I should pro'ly switch this off… Noodle and Russel could be back at any time, and I dunno where Murdoc is. If someone walks in an' catches me listenin' to this, I'd never hear the end of it,'_ 2-D thought idly, but he merely scratched an itchy spot on his stomach before flopping his arm back down and listening.

"When we'll wake up  
Some morning rain  
Will wash away our pain  
When we'll wake up  
Some morning rain  
Will wash away our pain  
'cause it never began for us  
It'll never end for us  
'cause it never began for us  
It'll never end for us…"

"Yeah…" 2-D mumbled vaguely, a picture flashing through his mind so quickly he almost didn't catch it – bad teeth, dark hair, dirty skin, a smile like old razorblades. He didn't let his mind linger over thoughts like that, though. After all, that truly was something that had never begun, and probably never would.

"Wot in the _'ell_ is that _noise?_" The low, gravelly voice got 2-D off his bed faster than a cattle prod to his testicles would have. He was reaching desperately for the jukebox across the room before he had even gotten his long, lanky legs untangled from the bed sheets. He ended up splayed with his chin on his tan throw rug, one arm reaching impotently toward the juke – which was still pouring out the embarrassing lyrics.

"Nuffin'," 2-D replied shakily, rolling his dark, bruised eyes up at Murdoc in the doorway. "It's… um… not anyfin'. Not really."

"Well, you did _that_ arse about face," Murdoc replied, looking down at the fallen singer. With a quick motion, he smacked his fist into the side of the juke, causing the record to scratch and cut off. The jukebox gave a few angry splutters before going dark.

"You _broke_ it!" 2-D protested, kicking his tangled bed sheets away from his feet.

"And?" Murdoc asked, rubbing a hand over his face. 2-D listened to the scrape of rough palm over rougher stubble, loud in the vacuum left by the now-silent juke.

"An'…" 2-D paused, seeming to think over his reply thoroughly – quite a feat for him. "An' it's _mine_, so I don' wancher to break it."

"I am _deeply_ moved by yer sorrow," Murdoc replied grumpily, "but the fact is, that noise drowned out the telly. Y'can hear yer music through 'alf the carpark. Thursday is a good TV night, an' I don't fancy missin' my shows."

"Why di'n't you just _ask_ me to turn it down?" 2-D couldn't help asking, even if he knew he wouldn't get a reply – Murdoc never explained himself.

"Look, lackwit, just keep the noise down. I'm not askin' you – I'm _tellin'_ you."

It had been a surprisingly mild confrontation, and 2-D decided to press his luck. After all, if he didn't at least make a show of standing up to Murdoc from time to time, things would get much worse for him. While it wasn't really bad being Murdoc's personal friend and punching bag, it would quickly sour if Murdoc decided to take the "friend" denomination away from the equation, something that could easily happen if 2-D didn't at least give token resistance.

"But it's _my_ record in _my_ room… an' it's _my_ juke. So… so I'll play it if I wonna." 2-D stood up, and – in a move quite similar to Murdoc's – gave the side of the juke a hard _thump!_ The lights flickered on for a moment, then dimmed, then went off again.

"Huh," Murdoc snorted, looking at the juke, obviously unimpressed. "Leave't off. Y'wan' somethin' t'do, go'n… tidy the kitchen, okay?"

2-D sighed, admitting defeat, and gave the juke one last blow – this time a solid kick from a sneakered foot that rocked it where it stood, making it fizzle and spit like water on a hot skillet – before turning toward his bed, head hung. That was when everything exploded.

As he was catapulted across the room, 2-D fleetingly wondered how one little smack to a juke could cause it to blow up and, moreover, if jukeboxes regularly did so; perhaps it was time to invest in a non-exploding music player.

For a moment, 2-D stayed where he was thrown. His back was screaming "God Save the Queen" in an off-key duet of embedded plastic and metal; he would undoubtedly need stitches. He was sitting up – slowly, carefully, trying not to drive any jukebox shrapnel (_'That might make a good name ferra song,'_ 2-D thought incongruously) into anything vital – when he saw Murdoc across the room. And that was when he ignored the howling duet from his back and _ran._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter:** 02  
**Disclaimer:** Characters not mine; Albarn and Hewlett's. Idea, however, totally mine (I doubt they'd want to claim it).  
**Rating:** NC-17 for angst and Murdoc/2-D slashiness in later chapters.  
**Notes:** And here's where we get to the actual 'plot' part of the… um… plot. We must all remember to be careful with our jukeboxes, 'cuz they're always looking for a good time to explode. And that can be a bad, bad thing.  
In a related note, this chapter was a bitch to write. Getting through the hospital scene with the nurse and doctor? Was hell. I was so damned glad to get Russel into the room. It simplified things immensely to be writing the established characters. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Mr. Niccals, please." The nurse sounded more harassed that morning than usual… possibly because Murdoc was putting up more of a struggle that morning than usual.

"Look, 'm not int'rested in getting out of bed, awright?"

"But, Mr. Niccals, Doctor says it's time to start workin' on your muscles, wakin' 'em up."

"Not. Bloody. Int'rested."

There was a frustrated sigh, then the sound of the nurse walking away. Murdoc leaned back in the imposed blackness, and then reached one hand up to brush his fingertips lightly across the bandages over his eyes. He'd gotten good at picking up sounds in the last two weeks, mainly because he had to - there wasn't much else to do but listen when you were blind.

The door popped open and Murdoc recognized the tread of Dr. Westby, the surgeon who had operated on Murdoc when he'd arrived at the hospital two weeks before. Dr. Westby's footsteps were easier to pick out than some people's - the man moved liked he had a purpose, always going quickly from one spot to another. Today was no different.

"Mr. Niccals, Jenny tells me you're being difficult." The man sounded fully American, perhaps 50 or so. And, at the moment, very annoyed.

Good.

"Look, Doc, I've told _'er_ an' now I'm tellin' _you_ - I am not int'rested in gettin' out of this hospital bed, unless I am being allowed to get out of _'ere_."

"Well, that's just it, Mr. Niccals… we plan to discharge you at the end of the week. However, we can't do that until you strengthen your muscles. Two weeks of bed rest have undoubtedly left them -"

"Hold on… yer lettin' me go? Then… I get to get this soddin' bandage off too, yeah?" Murdoc sat up straighter in his bed, turning his head toward Dr. Westby, trying to hear him better.

"Mr. Niccals, I've explained this before. The damage to your eyes was significant. Technology has advanced quite a bit in the last few years and I did manage to remove all the plastic shards from your eyes, but if you are going to stand any chance of regaining your vision, your eyes will need time to heal. You'll have those bandages on for another three weeks."

"Well, then why're you lettin' me out?"

"Because your band mates are worried about you and are willing to take care of you while you are convalescing."

Murdoc's face twisted into a grimace. "Wait… I'm s'posed to let _them_ take care'a me? How daft d'ya think I _am?_"

"Daft enough to help out an upset friend, perhaps? A tall, skinny, blue-haired fellow has been showing up every day looking like walking death. He thinks _he_ caused your accident, and I think it would do a world of good if you'd let him try to help you."

"Wot, 2-D? Let _'im_ help me jus'ta ease 'is conscience? Maybe the accident wosn't 'is fault, but if 'e accident'ly _kills_ me, how will _that_ 'elp 'im?" Murdoc leaned back in the bed, arms crossed.

"I wouldn't worry about that. You won't be on any medication -"

"Where's the fun in _that?_" Murdoc muttered softly.

"- and you won't need any bed rest or special care. Honestly, your band mates will only need to be there to help you when you want them to."

"D'ruther not."

"Suit yourself. You will, however, cooperate with Jenny when she comes back in to exercise your legs. You need to wake the muscles up. Besides, this afternoon I plan to start allowing you visitors, and I think you'd be happier to greet people if you've had a shower."

"But I was _enjoyin'_ the _sponge baths_," Murdoc murmured to the sound of Dr. Westby heading out the door of the room.

Left alone for a moment, Murdoc considered the doctor's words sourly. So _what_ if 2-D was upset? He hadn't been potentially _blinded_ by an exploding jukebox. Besides, maybe 2-D deserved a good rollicking session with guilt. After all, it had been 2-D's blow that had caused the jukebox to explode. Moreover, it was 2-D's jukebox that had exploded. If the little wanker wanted to get all soggy over it… except that a guilty 2-D might think he needed to quit to band to make amends. He was daft enough to try something like that.

"And a band wiffout a singer is less a band an' more elevator music," Murdoc mumbled, dark eyebrows lowering toward the white bandage strapped over his eyes.

Murdoc's thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the door. He allowed himself to be bustled out of bed and hauled around the room - although his legs trembled so badly at first that he thought he'd end up going arse over tit. He was so distracted by his weakness after a two-week period of nothing but bed rest that he didn't even try to tempt Jenny into a few hours of fun to pass the time. Besides, since he couldn't see her to judge her appearance, he risked her being a minger.

Jenny left him in a chair while she changed the sheets on his bed. Once again, his mind rolled over the problem of 2-D's guilt. While the sounds of the bed being stripped and remade filled the background, Murdoc frowned to himself and considered.

If 2-D left, Murdoc knew he would have to try and find a new pretty face to front the band. It wouldn't be too hard… but frankly, he didn't want to. There was the simple fact that he didn't like the idea of spending time and effort to find a new front man, and there was the not-so-simple fact that he didn't like the idea of 2-D leaving.

_'True, he's an idiot… but he's_ my _id -'_ Murdoc cut that thought off quickly, stuffing it down someplace where it wouldn't disturb him again… hopefully.

"Okay, Mr. Niccals, I'm goin' t'walk you to t'shower now and show you where to find soap and shampoo. Try not to get y'bandage wet; we'll be changing it after yer shower, but it'll be better if y'try to keep it dry. If you need any assistance, pull this cord," Jenny carefully put his hand on a rope of material next to the shower, "and a male orderly will give you some 'elp."

"Thanks, Sister," Murdoc muttered, still running his mind over the problem at hand.

Going back to Kong Studios _was_ tempting… anything to be out of the sterile hospital environment. However, going back and expecting 2-D, Russel, and Noodle to take care of him while he was blind…

By the time he'd finished his shower and been tucked back into his bed, he was no closer to a decision. He listened as Jenny turned the lights off and shut the blinds, trying to make the room as dim as possible before changing the bandages over his eyes.

He couldn't help feeling disappointed when Jenny removed the tape and gauze and he didn't see even the faintest lightening of the darkness behind his eyes. He had been warned that his eyes would need time to heal, but any glimmer of light would have been welcome. After all, who the hell wanted to be blind forever?

The new bandages applied to his eyes felt smaller and less bulky than the old ones. Undoubtedly, they were smaller for aesthetic reasons.

"Y've got a visitor," Jenny said cheerfully. "Shall I show 'im in?"

Murdoc gave his okay, and a moment later he heard a familiar voice.

"Hey, man, how're y'feelin'?" Russel sounded uncomfortable, concerned, hopeful… all at the same time.

_'Quite a talent,'_ Murdoc thought dryly.

"I'm about knackered, Russel, if y'want the truth. I've been stuck in bed for two weeks and this mornin' I was ordered t' 'ave a quick jog 'round the room. And according to the sister, Doctor 'spects me to move back to the Studio at the end of the week."

"Really? Well, D will be happy t'hear that," Russel replied, cheering up considerably.

"Been upset, 'as 'e?" Murdoc questioned, unable to hide the pleasure in his voice at the idea of 2-D getting his knickers in a twist.

"He's been almost insane, Muds. Don't get happy 'bout it, 'cause he's been bad. I think he's lost ten pounds in the last two weeks, and on him, that's just _scary._"

Murdoc pictured 2-D, who normally looked nearly emaciated, after losing ten pounds. It was, indeed, not a pretty picture.

"Then why isn't 'e 'ere, showin' his support and wotall?"

"He and Noodle ran down to get something to eat about thirddy minutes ago. He's been here every day since the accident, hopin' to get in and talk to you. He's really eaten up by it. You should say somethin' to him when he gets back."

Murdoc snorted. "Wot, like 'thanks for blindin' me, mate, 's a great gift but I'll take the consolation prize next time'?"

Russel's reply was quick, and his voice was tight. "Don't say that shit around D, man, I mean it. He's had a hard time lately."

"While I've just been havin' tea, 's that it?" Murdoc growled in reply.

"I know you've had a hard time the last few weeks… we all know. I can't imagine how it'd feel to know I might be blind forever -"

"Yer a great comfort, mate, 'm so glad you came to visit," Murdoc interrupted dryly.

"But," Russel continued, unfazed by Murdoc's sarcasm, "the rest of us have had it hard, too. Noodle and I got home right after the accident. D'you know what it was like to go down to the garage and see the two of you in the doorway to D's room, covered in blood?"

Murdoc hadn't actually thought of 2-D being on the receiving end of any of the shrapnel from the jukebox - he'd assumed since 2-D wasn't vacationing in a hospital room, he was fine. He felt a niggle of worry, but Russel was going on.

"Noodle and I didn't know what to do. 2-D was half out of his mind, screamin' and craddlin' you. And you, man… your face was… Noodle saved the day. She was the one that called for an amb'lance while I was still standin' there."

Russel sighed, and Murdoc heard him pacing the room. "When we got here, I thought the hospital staff was nevuh gonna pry you outta 2-D's grip. And when they did, he refused to let anyone work on him until he knew how _you_ were. They triedta convince him, but he scared 'em off. I've never seen a skinny white guy scare people so easily, but he was out of his mind, man. He wasn't movin' until he knew if you were gonna live."

Murdoc hadn't heard any of this before. Obviously, the doctors and nurses had tried to keep things light, glossing over the actual state he'd been in when he'd arrived. He hadn't stopped to think that he may have worse off than he'd assumed.

"He's been cartin' himself around the Studio like death onnuh stick for two weeks, Muds, and I think it's time y'talked to him."

"Well, I never said I _wouldn't_, did I?" Murdoc replied waspishly.

"I can see getting a jukebox in y'face didn't detract from y'personality none," Russel replied. Murdoc felt a large, warm hand clasp his shoulder gently. "Glad to see you alive, man. But I think Ah'm gonna step outside and let the two of you talk now."

"The two of who?" Murdoc asked, turning his bandaged face toward the door; he hadn't heard anyone approach, and he'd gotten damned good at listening for things lately.

"'Ello, Murdoc." The high, tremulous voice of 2-D was impossible to mistake, as were the retreating footsteps of Russel and the muted clicking of the door behind pulled shut as the drummer exited. "Are you… okay?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter:** 03  
**Disclaimer:** Characters not mine; Albarn and Hewlett's. Idea, however, totally mine (I doubt they'd want to claim it).  
**Rating:** NC-17 for angst and Murdoc/2-D slashiness in later chapters.  
**Notes:** I just love the idea of Murdoc in the passenger seat of the Geep, scared to death by 2-D's driving. Something about the scenario makes me giggle like a schoolgirl.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Am I okay?" Murdoc asked, repeating 2-D's question in an incredulous tone. "Do I _look_ okay?"

"N-no…" 2-D replied hesitantly. "But… y' don' look as bad as I was 'fraid you'd look."

It was true. Although Murdoc's eyes were covered by large white gauze bandages and medical tape, 2-D had been expecting Murdoc's face to be covered in lacerations. Seeing the bassist laying at an incline in the hospital bed, his dark hair more mussed than usual, 2-D was relieved - deeply, shakingly relieved - to see Murdoc's face had very few deep cuts on it. There was a small smattering of healing scratches around his eyes and forehead, but the majority of his face was unmarred. As 2-D moved forward, his eyes were drawn to Murdoc's hands, resting on the coverlet.

Murdoc's hands were deeply scratched. In a few places, stitches bristled from the skin, holding together the sundered skin.

_ 'So that's why 'is face isn't scratched up… he must've raised 'is 'ands at t'last second,'_ 2-D thought, staring helplessly down at Murdoc's hands. _'To bad 'e didn't raise them jus' a little higher…'_

He felt a tightening in his chest as he thought for the thousandth time in the last two weeks that this was _his_ fault.

"Y' still there?" Murdoc asked, obviously unnerved by the silence. He twisted his head a little, as if trying to pick up a sound.

"Yeah," 2-D croaked, forcing the words out from behind a thickness in his throat. "I uh… I saw Doctor in t' hall. 'E says y' c'n go 'ome this week?"

"Yeah, 'e said somethin' similar to me," Murdoc replied without enthusiasm. "I dunno if I will."

There was a pause and the two men listened to the silence of the room. From behind his bandages, Murdoc felt dismay at his ability to look at the other man's face. He had taken for granted his ability to read people just by looking at them. Always before, his dual-colored eyes had been his probe, helping him to read the thoughts and emotions of the people he interacted with. Now, he had only vocal tones... and 2-D wasn't talking.

_ 'Wot is 'e doin'?'_ Murdoc wondered, but he was determined not to ask again if 2-D was still in the room; he didn't like presenting himself as helpless.

"If… if you'll let me, I'd like t' 'elp you." 2-D's voice in the silence almost made Murdoc jump; he'd been listening so intently, he'd keyed himself up. He managed to keep from jumping only by tightening his muscles. Still his face twisted into a slight grimace, and 2-D misinterpreted the expression.

"I won't 'urt you again, if 'at's wot yer thinkin'," 2-D said quickly, shuffling his sneakered feet on the floor impotently. He wanted to touch Murdoc, but he wasn't sure how the touch would be interpreted or accepted; after all, Murdoc was only in hospital because 2-D had screwed up… as always.

"I wasn't thinkin' that… don't try to put thoughts in my 'ead, Tusspot." Murdoc's voice held a distinct warning tone that 2-D was very familiar with, and 2-D rubbed the tip of his tongue lightly in the empty spot at the front of his upper gums - a habit of his any time he was nervous.

2-D struggled to think of what to say, and then just decided to go with gut instinct.

"Murdoc? I want t' 'elp you get better. It was my fault this 'appened to you, and I want it to be my fault if y' get better… like wot y' did for me with the coma. If you'll let me, I know I c'n 'elp you." 2-D reached out gently, touching Murdoc's shoulder. The bassist went stiff for a moment, then shrugged, causing 2-D's hand to drop.

"Fine. It might be fun to have a slave for a few weeks." Murdoc's tone was taunting, revealing none of the inner turmoil he'd experienced when feeling 2-D's hand on his shoulder. It had started with a gentle pressure on his chest, and then a slight tightening in his groin.

_ 'Of course, two weeks with no female contact except that of Sister Jenny would do that,'_ Murdoc reassured himself. _'One o' the fust things t'do when I get this soddin' bandage off is t' get m'self a groupie and do to her things she could never tell her father about.'_

2-D, oblivious to Murdoc's thoughts, smiled his gap-toothed smile and - in an apoplexy of joy and confusion as to what to do - gave Murdoc's shoulder a few happy pats.

"I'll tell Doctor," 2-D said, and Murdoc heard the younger man scurrying from the room.

_'I'm goin' t' regret this,'_ Murdoc thought, slouching down into the hospital bed. _'I just know it.'_

- - - 

_ 'I'm goin' t' regret this,'_ Murdoc thought, listening to the _squeak-squeak_ of the wheelchair's wheels and the soft padding of the nurse's shoes. He was being wheeled down to the front of the hospital where the rest of his band mates were waiting with the Geep to drive him back to Kong Studios.

'Now don't f'get wot Doctor said," Jenny was reminding him cheerfully. "Don' get y'bandages wet. Take it easy, but don' stay in bed all t' time. If y' need any help, don' be shy about askin' - that's wot yer friends are takin' y' home for."

He heard sliding doors hiss open and felt a breeze of moist air hit him. He couldn't hear the Geep or his band mates, but he felt Jenny set the brake on the wheelchair and move the footrests up so he could stand. A light touch on his arm guided him toward the Geep. Unwillingly, he put his own hand over the one on his arm - he didn't need to go arse over tit in front of a hospital with people looking on.

_ 'Odd,'_ Murdoc thought, climbing carefully into the vehicle and settling into the seat, _'to not be drivin' the Geep.'_

The hand on his arm let go and Murdoc heard a rapid patter of feet moving to the other side of the Geep, then a light dip as someone got into the driver's seat.

"Ready?" The voice came from his left, in the driver's seat, and it was 2-D.

"Wait, _yer_ drivin' us?" Murdoc asked, incredulous.

"Yeah. Don' worry, Murdoc, I'll get us there."

Murdoc huddled into the seat, suddenly wishing he hadn't been so adamant about _not_ installing seatbelts in the Geep.

The drive - which, thanks to 2-D's belief in the 'jerk and weave' school of driving, would have been nerve-wracking even if he'd had sight - was disorienting and sickening thanks to the imposed blindness. Murdoc often found himself clutching at the sides of the Geep, trying to get his bearings. Every once in awhile, Russel, Noodle, and 2-D would try to draw him into a conversation, but the roaring wind, weaving Geep, and his inability to focus on anything rushing past them left Murdoc unwilling to engage in anything but a prolonged vomiting session. His single-syllable replies shut them all up fairly quickly.

"Feelin' better today, man?" Russel's voice, originating from somewhere in the backseat, was cheerful.

"Hmmm," Murdoc grunted, clutching the doorframe.

"Do you want anything to eat?" Noodle was cautious, obviously recognizing Murdoc's bad mood. "We went to ta store lass night… to get food to celebrate your return."

"Huh." Murdoc growled, shifting lower into the seat as 2-D passed a car - Murdoc heard the grumble of the car's engine next to him, and the blastingly-loud honk of a horn.

"D'ya need anyfin', Murdoc?" 2-D sounded the same as he usually did when addressing Murdoc - childlike and unconcerned with what might happen next. In fact, that was usually how he sounded when addressing anyone, even flesh-eating zombies intent on the choicer bits of his anatomy.

"No." The reply was terse, annoyed, and it finally shut the three musicians up.

It felt almost painfully good to get back into the carpark. The familiar smells of petrol, grease, and cigarettes - God, how he needed one of those; damned 'No Smoking' zones - made Murdoc eager to get out of the Geep so he could retreat to the silence and privacy of his Winnebago.

He heard as well as felt Noodle, 2-D, and Russel get out of the car. A light touch on the back of his hand announced Noodle's presence next to him.

"Welcome home." Her childish voice was solemn, her touch light. She was gone a moment later, the footsteps of the retreating musicians still echoing in the carpark after the door into Kong Studios had clanged shut.

_ 'Great. Maybe I shouldn't've been so terse on the drive. Now I 'ave to get to the Winnebago without stumbling into a parked car or down the bunker.'_

With careful precision, Murdoc got out of the Geep, putting his booted feet onto the cement floor. With one hand on the side of the Geep, he took a step forward, then stopped. Was the Winnebago in front of or behind the Geep? How was it usually parked? He'd never before had to think about how to get from Geep to 'bago, and he was dismayed at his complete helplessness.

_ 'Well, this'll be fun. In a couple hours, when someone comes t' check on me, I'll still be standin' next to the Geep like a total gorm.'_

Murdoc took a deep breath, let go of the Geep and stepped forward - right into someone.

"Oof!" The tone was high and light, and Murdoc felt a flush of embarrassment as he realized 2-D must've been standing in front of him the whole time. The embarrassment quickly turned to rage, and he grabbed a fistful of the shirt in front of him.

"And 'ow long 'ave _you_ been standin' there? Were you just goin' t' watch me wander around until I ran into sumthin'?" Murdoc twisted the shirt, 2-D's hands scrabbling at his clenched fist.

"No! No! I jus' wanted t' see if you could do it y'self!"

"I'm _blind_, you dullard! How the _'ell_ was I s'posed to do it m'self?" Murdoc released the shirt in disgust, turning away from 2-D to storm off before remembering he would only storm _into_ something.

He stood undecided for a moment, then felt a gentle touch on his arm. 2-D's fingertips slid down to Murdoc's hand, grasping the bassist's fingers. 2-D gently lifted Murdoc's hand, placing the older man's fingers in the crook of his thin arm.

"I'll walk y' t' yer Winnebago," 2-D said gently, obviously not angered by Murdoc's outburst or the state of his shirt.

Murdoc still felt anger simmering below the surface, but he made an attempt to be polite. After all, the last thing he needed was to lose his temper and knock 2-D out and end up stuck in the middle of the carpark with no idea where to go until the younger man woke up.

"So, why did Russel an' Noodle take off? I'd've thought there'd be a big 'omecomin'." Murdoc could feel 2-D's pulse beneath his fingers and he had the sudden urge to stroke the inside of 2-D's arm.

_ 'Def'nitely need to bed a bird,'_ Murdoc thought, shaking off the urge.

"I uh… I asked them to. Before we left for 'ospital, I told them I wanted t' be the one wot took care of you. They agreed, an' so… 'ere we are."

2-D's arm slipped away from Murdoc's grasp, and for a moment the bassist felt a niggle of worry - was 2-D going to leave him standing out here? - and then his hand was grasped again, and placed on the familiar door handle of the Winnebago.

"Yer prob'ly tired," 2-D said. "I'll leave you alone for a few hours an' come back t' check on you later."

Murdoc listened to the retreating flap of 2-D's sneakers. The heavy metal door to Kong Studios squealed open, and there was a pause.

"'M sorry for 'urtin' you, Murdoc," 2-D said softly, and before Murdoc could reply, the metal door had clanged shut, leaving him alone in the carpark.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter:** 04  
**Disclaimer:** Characters not mine; Albarn and Hewlett's. Idea, however, totally mine (I doubt they'd want to claim it).  
**Rating:** NC-17 for angst and Murdoc/2-D slashiness in later chapters.  
**Notes:** Holy crap, real life invaded and kept me away from this for-ev-ar.  
This chapter is quite short, but I think I prefer it short like this… too many words and it would be silly. The idea comes across… I hope.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A car alarm blared in the silence, and Murdoc – familiar with the idea that blundering zombies wandering the carpark often set off the alarms – popped the door to his Winnebago open and stepped up, barking his shin on the metal step.

"Bloody…!" Shin aching, Murdoc lifted his foot higher, finally making it over the step. He shut the door to the 'bago, muffling the blaring car alarm.

Cortez fluttered around the 'bago, and Murdoc realized he wasn't sure if anyone had been feeding the bird while he was gone. Well, no matter – Murdoc usually left one of the 'bago windows cracked open enough for the bird to escape, and Cortez liked Zombie Snacks as much as any other bird and was quick enough to get an eye or an ear off an unsuspecting shambling dead.

"Sorry, mate," Murdoc mumbled, feeling around for the cupboard where he housed the bird's favorite seed mix, some tins of cat food, and a bag of dried mixed berries. He dumped the berries and seeds on the counter and opened the tin of cat food, listening as Cortez fluttered over to gulp the food down. The faucet of the sink was still dripping into the bowl of water Murdoc left in the sink at all times to provide the bird with water, so at least he knew Cortez hadn't been thirsty.

Not that he would admit it to anyone, but Murdoc had a soft spot for his bird. After all, who could help but get a soft spot for the bird after watching it swoop down on the unsuspecting undead to pluck their eyes out of the skulls. Murdoc smiled faintly, but the expression faded quickly when he realized he may not be able to watch Cortez do his "now you see, now you don't" trick again.

With a sigh, Murdoc shuffled to his bed, bumping into everything in his path and a few things not in his path. He collapsed on the mattress and listened to the _peck flutter flutter peck_ of the bird consuming its first full meal in weeks.

As he drifted off, he wondered who had turned his telly off; it had been on when he'd gone to yell at 2-D for playing his records too loud. Honestly, who would be brave enough to even enter his Winnebago?

- - - 

Waking up in absolute darkness is disorienting. For a moment, you can't do anything but stare into the blackness and nothingness and wonder what's happened. Then, you realize – through sounds and scents and air currents – where you are and either turn a light on or open a door.

When Murdoc woke, he experienced a moment of panic. This wasn't his room in hospital. The smells were wrong – cigarettes, beer, rotting flesh, petrol, and the stale smell of old sex rather than the smells of antiseptic and old man farts. The sounds were wrong, too. There was no squeak of Sisters' shoes passing down the hallway, no beeping of patients needing their bedpans emptied, no announcements blaring over the speakers. That was when Murdoc realized it had been a sound that wakened him.

_ 'Wot in the 'ell would've…'_ A soft, shuffling step nearby made him tense on the bed. It had been the 'bago door opening that had woken him. Now, listening as another soft, shuffling step approached his bed, he wondered when the zombies had figured out how to open doors.

_ 'Bloody 'ell,'_ he thought miserably. _'Now I'll 'ave to lock the soddin' thing every time I'm out 'ere. On a positive,'_ he considered, perking up slightly, _'now I'll 'ave somethin' to thrash. Might make me feel a little better.'_

Murdoc remained in his prone position on the bed, not moving or giving any indication he was awake and aware of the presence in his 'bago until the slow steps shuffled right next to his bed. Then, with a guttural yell, he flung himself onto the zombie, hands clenching at its throat to wring its undead head off its rotting body.

Murdoc realized a half-second before 2-D shouted that it wasn't a zombie he'd launched himself at. The first hint was the smell. Zombies usually had the particular odor of Eau de spoiled meat. An instant before he'd lunged, however, Murdoc had detected the scent that Noodle often described as "butterscotch-flavoured angel delight."

2-D's yell of surprise finished any suspicions Murdoc may have had that the presence in the 'bago was not one of the legions of walking undead. Still, Murdoc kept his hands closed tight around 2-D's throat for another moment, legs straddling the singer's chest. It was nice to have a decent spot of violence fairly often. Besides which, the moment was fairly thrilling, what with 2-D underneath him, all subservient and helpless.

"Murdoc! Murdoc, it's me!" 2-D's normally high voice was thin with his surprise, making him sound more female than ever. Plus, the little wriggles he was making beneath Murdoc in his attempt to escape were positively –

Murdoc stood up quickly. He'd been about two seconds away from tenting his jeans. It was definitely time to ask for a conjugal visit from a pretty little fan or even a hooker – or two.

"Wot d'you want?" Murdoc growled, his back to 2-D just in case there was any tell-tale lift to his jeans.

"Brought y'dinner," 2-D replied, getting up off the floor in a rustle of cloth. "I thot you were sleepin', so I left it on counter. Want me t'get it?"

"Yeah, sure," Murdoc replied, rubbing the tip of one finger over the crooked bridge of his nose.

2-D padded away, and then returned with a rustling of a paper bag. Murdoc caught the scent of fried chicken, the smell strong enough to overpower the normal reek of the Winnebago.

"I thot chicken would be easy fer you t'eat," 2-D said, thrusting the greasy take-out bag toward Murdoc. "Y' don't have to use any forks or nuthin' – y'just eat it."

Murdoc ate in silence, despite 2-D's attempts at cheerful conversation. Murdoc didn't want to talk – he wanted one thing right now and it was to get rid of the nagging ache below his stomach. He knew the numbers of a few escort services by heart – as soon as 2-D cleared off, he'd ring one.

"How're y'feelin' now?" 2-D asked as he gathered the remains of Murdoc's meal.

"How the hell d'you think I feel?" Murdoc snapped back. "Still blind, aren't I?"

"I just meant… I'm sorry," 2-D said softly, immediately cowed by the bassist's anger. "I didn't mean to… can I… uh… make it up t'you?"

_'Drop trou and bend over,' _Murdoc thought, then shook his head.

"Y' c'n get out," Murdoc said, tone slightly gruffer than normal.

2-D paused for a moment, then mumbled another apology and shuffled out of the 'bago, shutting the door quietly behind him. Murdoc immediately started patting counters and other surfaces, looking for the phone.

Murdoc quickly found it wasn't as easy as he'd thought to dial a phone number when blind. Twice, he got a cleaning service and once he got a very annoyed sounding high-class bird. Trying to keep in mind the number he was dialing, plus remembering which numbers he'd already pressed and which number came next along with trying to remember the placement of the keys was one of the most frustrating experiences of his life.

After ten tries, he finally managed to get the number pressed correctly. He put his order in and collapsed back. Most of the girls at that service were familiar with him – she'd find her way without trouble. Until then, he would just watch the telly and –

Murdoc sighed in frustration; his choices were painfully limited. Finally, he stumbled back to his bed and collapsed, waiting for the soft knock on his door that would announce the latest place for him to expend himself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter:** 05  
**Disclaimer:** Characters not mine; Albarn and Hewlett's. Idea, however, totally mine (I doubt they'd want to claim it).  
**Rating:** NC-17 for angst and Murdoc/2-D slashiness in later chapters.  
**Notes:** The general feeling of everyone reading this, I'm sure, is "finally!"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Murdoc sighed, his body heavy with exhaustion. The girl from the agency had been one of his favorites – pliant, willing, and a little dirty. He'd had her three times in quick succession, but none had really satisfied him.

_ 'Well…'_ Murdoc thought, rubbing his callused fingers across his hair-roughened chin, listening to the scrape in the imposed darkness behind the bandages.

None of the orgasms had really satisfied him until he had given into something he hesitated to think of now, out of the glow of sex and back in gritty reality. The last orgasm had been shattering, mind-blowing, had left him gasping and shuddering on top of the bought sex laying on his dirty mattress and rumpled sheets.

As he'd pumped into her pliant form, he had allowed his mind to drift. Eyes like the darkest night, shadowed with purple bruises. A gap-toothed mouth, thin body – thin to the point of emaciation – and a shock of incongruous blue hair.

Murdoc had given in to what he'd been fighting for the last few days and imagined 2-D below him, as eager as the whore had been. He'd imagined gripping a handful of 2-D's spiked blue hair, pulling the singer's head back and thrusting – thrusting – felt himself so close to the point of no return and he could almost … almost … then he –

He'd sent the whore on her way with a handful of bills, trusting her not to try and rob him blind since her agency got a lot of business from him.

Now, unsure of the hour, he lay listening to the sink drip, listening to Cortez fluttering as the dark-feathered bird settled in for the night, listening to a car alarm go off somewhere deep in the carpark.

_ 'Now what,'_ Murdoc wondered, _'does it mean when y'can't really get off until you think of y' lead singer?'_

Thoughts better left alone for now.

Normally a loner, Murdoc suddenly found himself feeling a little lonely. Some human company would be nice. Behind the bandages, he was robbed of his sight; at the moment, he didn't really want to also be rubbed of sounds and smells and touch.

He rose from his mattress, stumbling through the Winnebago – once again crashing into things, causing Cortez to give a raucous croak of protest – before finding the front door.

He misjudged the step out of the 'bago and end up stumbling down onto the cement, nearly losing his balance. He hoped no one was watching him, and stood silently for a moment, listening for any sound of any human – or undead – presence in the carpark with him, and heard nothing.

His boot heels echoed hollowly as he moved across the carpark, away from the 'bago. It wasn't until he'd moved at least a good foot away from the 'bago that he realized he wasn't quite sure if he was aiming toward the door to Kong Studios or just moving toward the opposite wall of the carpark.

_ 'Shit.'_

Murdoc lifted his arms, hands stretched out in front of him. He stepped forward slowly, hoping he wouldn't crash into any of the multiple vehicles parked around. He waved his hands, reaching for obstacles that would try to trip him up – for all the good it did.

He barked his shin into something and cursed as the object toppled with a clatter and crunch. Undoubtedly one of the motorbikes.

He tried to turn around and double back – wasn't the door to Kong Studios between his 'bago and the 'bikes? – and ran into another of the parked motorbikes. This one started a chain reaction, and Murdoc stood in resigned silence as a domino-line of motorbikes toppled around him. After the last one had fallen, there was a subdued tinkling of broken glass, then the click-whump of a door opening.

"Wot in the…? Murdoc? 'Zat you?"

"Sod off," Murdoc responded, resigned. After the game of motorbike dominoes, the last thing he wanted was human companionship. He wanted to go back to his 'bago and be surly to no one about the whole stupid, hopeless situation.

"Wot are y' doin' out 'ere?" 2-D asked, and Murdoc heard the taller man come padding and scuffing over to him – sounded like he wasn't wearing any shoes, probably just socks.

"Got bored," Murdoc replied, feeling 2-D's long fingers gently placing Murdoc's hand onto the blue-haired singer's arm.

"Want a drink?" 2-D asked after a pause. Obviously, he felt it was his duty to take care of everything Murdoc wanted or needed during his period of recovery. Murdoc's mind flashed a quick thought – _'Does that include sex?'_ – and then the bassist was shrugging.

"Yeah, a drink'd be nice. But I don't much want t' go out anywhere –"

"No, s'okay," 2-D interrupted, walking forward, Murdoc forced to go along. "I got some things in m'room."

An hour later, Murdoc was beginning to feel much less concerned with his blindness. Alcohol was good for calming down upset minds, and he found it hard to form any coherent worries with the buzzing in his head and the looseness of his joints.

He heard 2-D upend the bottle of Captain Morgan – which had lost its bite about thirty minutes ago and had become merely soothing and warm – and held out a hand in that general direction.

"Give i' 'ere," he slurred, and after a second felt the bottle pressed into his hand. He closed his fingers around the bottle, dragging it toward him. After a moment, he realized he'd dropped the bottle.

_ 'Guess I wasn't 'oldin' it as tight as I thought,'_ he thought, patting ineffectually at the rug, seeking the bottle. His hands encountered a puddle of spilled liquid, and then he felt 2-D's fingers on his.

"S' okay, Murdoc," 2-D said, almost in Murdoc's ear. Murdoc could feel the warmth of the singer's breath on his ear and cheek, and heard 2-D righting the bottle, the remaining liquid sloshing cheerfully.

Distantly, some part of Murdoc's brain was repeating, 'Y' shouldn't, mate; y' shouldn't' but that part was quickly being overwhelmed by alcohol and the groaning pressure building underneath the fly of his jeans.

Murdoc captured 2-D's hand, pushing it back onto the carpet underneath Murdoc's own. He reached out, hand clutching clumsily at 2-D's shirt.

"Wot's – " 2-D began, but Murdoc cut the young man off. Leaning forward, Murdoc's mouth connected inelegantly with 2-D's. Blindness and inebriation were not a good mix for classy kisses, but Murdoc was beyond caring.

Never much one for denying himself something he wanted, Murdoc pulled the singer closer to himself, mouth hungrily claiming 2-D's.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter:** 06  
**Disclaimer:** Characters not mine; Albarn and Hewlett's. Idea, however, totally mine (I doubt they'd want to claim it).  
**Rating:** NC-17 for angst and Murdoc/2-D slashiness.  
**Notes:** Oh Em Gee, buttsecks. Yes, finally, we arrive at what y'all started reading this damned fic for. I am truly pitiful at the writing of smut. Remind me to beg the amazingly impeccable Sandra for help. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

_'Don't, mate… this isn't the way,'_ Murdoc told himself, releasing the singer's shirt to bury his knobby fingers in 2-D's hair, holding the other man's mouth to his. But Murdoc wasn't much interested in listening to his brain when his body was being so persuasive.

2-D, on the other hand, was thinking only, _'Yes'_ in a kind of hopelessness, allowing Murdoc to hold him in place.

2-D was balanced on his knees, one hand pinned under Murdoc's on the floor in a puddle of Captain Morgan, and the other digging into the carpet as it slowly dawned on him that he was kissing Murdoc, was allowing Murdoc to kiss him.

_'I fink somethin's wrong wiff this situation,'_ 2-D thought, then Murdoc was releasing 2-D's mouth.

2-D sat back slowly as Murdoc lifted his hand off of the singer's. The bottle of Captain Morgan was once again spilled as 2-D's hand knocked into it, but neither man paid it any attention.

Though drunk, 2-D was by no means so drunk that he would do something he would not normally want to do, and looking at Murdoc, the white bandages standing out starkly on his dark skin, 2-D wanted to let Murdoc do anything to him that the older man deemed necessary.

_'Wotever 'e does, I deserve it,'_ 2-D thought. Some small part of his mind added distantly, _'Wotever 'e does, I'll love it.'_

"I, uh…" Murdoc's voice trailed off. He was torn between demanding sex from the singer and stopping the situation before it went somewhere that they might both look back on with embarrassment.

2-D, in a rare moment of clarity, assessed the situation and decided that for a moment, _he_ would take control. With surprisingly steady hands, he reached out and caressed the bulge in Murdoc's jeans, fingers going to the button of the fly, releasing it.

Murdoc's protestations were cut off with the flick of 2-D's fingers against his fly. He gritted his teeth, planting his hands firmly on the floor on either side of his hips, lifting himself to meet 2-D's touch.

With the touch of 2-D's fingers to his bare flesh, Murdoc knew that even if the singer were to demure and change his mind, there would be no going back. Murdoc had thought he'd emptied himself into the hooker; now, he found there was more than enough in his reserves for a fourth round.

2-D was so engrossed in the heat and hardness in his hand that he didn't notice one of Murdoc's hands coming up until it connected glancingly with his face. It traveled up, grabbing hold of 2-D's hair, pulling the singer forward into another rough kiss.

Murdoc's teeth grazed 2-D's lip gently, and then bit down, nearly drawing blood. 2-D, who had never really enjoyed pain before, suddenly found himself moaning with pleasure as Murdoc's teeth dug into his lip.

"Murdoc," 2-D said, suddenly wondering if he should at least try to protest, "are y'sure we should –"

"Yes."

"But, maybe we should stop an' – "

"We're not gonna."

"Murdoc, don' y'think –"

"Shut up, Tusspot."

2-D shut up.

Clothes fell off with no magic or artistry – Murdoc was blind and in no position to undress 2-D gently; besides, he wouldn't have done it gently even if he'd possessed his sight. And 2-D, though familiar with the art of undressing a woman, was a little confused at dealing with a partner who wanted to dominate him.

Murdoc clenched 2-D's thin arms with his strong hand, digging his teeth into 2-D's neck, drawing blood this time. 2-D found himself clutching Murdoc's bare shoulders, bruised eyes narrowed as he stared at the scorched spot on his wall where his jukebox had stood before.

_'If it hadn't exploded,'_ 2-D thought dimly, Murdoc's roughed palm sliding down the blue-haired man's arm to grasp the singer's erection in a hard grip, _'this wouldn't be 'appenin'.' _

2-D found himself suddenly very glad for shoddy workmanship in the making of jukeboxes.

Not inexperienced in anal sex – though usually the giver rather than the receiver – 2-D groped for the lube in the drawers next to his bed. It was a hard reach from the floor, but 2-D located the tube after a few hopeful lunges and grabs.

2-D realized almost immediately that allowing Murdoc to take him while 2-D rested on his hands and knees probably wouldn't work. Murdoc lacked the necessary sight to guide himself into the singer without a lot of embarrassing, mood-deflating fumbling.

Laying on his back, ankles on Murdoc's shoulders, 2-D helped to guide the bassist slowly in.

Even with lube, 2-D cried out.

Murdoc's shout mingled with the singer's. No virgin, no matter how young or how strongly she professed to be 'innocent,' had ever felt_ this_ good.

Murdoc's dirty nails dug into 2-D's hips and sides, drawing red welts then bloody furrows as Murdoc thrust.

2-D grasped the tan throw rug beneath him, clenching it in his fists. Pain delivered by Murdoc was not something new to 2-D, but he'd never been in this much pain before. 2-D squeezed his eyes shut, his gapped teeth clenching on his lower lip, tears hanging warm in his lashes.

Screaming, excruciating pain was throbbing in 2-D's lower half as Murdoc held still, letting the singer adjust to the sudden invasion. After a moment, Murdoc made a strangled sound of need and thrust forward gently, finding his rhythm. Slowly, inexorably 2-D's pain began to be overwhelmed with pleasure.

2-D had heard the hundreds of girls he'd taken to bed howl beneath him in ecstasy when they had been in his position, but he'd always thought they must be faking for his benefit – what was so exciting about something in your arse? Now, however, he knew that they had meant every gasping cry.

Distantly, 2-D heard someone howling in ecstasy just like so many lays in his past, only to realize it was him. Murdoc's skin was hot and slick against 2-D's, his breath redolent of alcohol and old cigarettes, a smell 2-D found suddenly and inexplicably arousing. Each dig of Murdoc's nails, each panting exhale, and each deep thrust pushed 2-D a little close to the edge.

He was holding on with everything he had, realizing that Murdoc would almost certainly come to his senses afterwards. After all, what was the more likely scenario: Murdoc wanting 2-D as a lover or Murdoc using 2-D once then realizing he'd made a grave mistake and treating 2-D even worse than he'd done before?

2-D cried out, eyes squeezed shut as Murdoc thrust deeply into the thing singer. 2-D's entire body was taught with trying to hold back his approaching climax. He was so close, but he had to – he couldn't... wouldn't...

"Do it, Tusspot," Murdoc ground out, voice even more gravelly than normal. "Do it."

2-D needed no more urging, crying out loudly.

The warmth of Murdoc's climax washed through 2-D as the bassist grunted once, his only verbal indication of his own peak, and the two went limp, listening to their laboured breathing and the distant blare of an alarm in the carpark.


End file.
